What A Day

What a daaaaaaaaaay. 

So we all know Mike is gone for the weekend right? And that both--yes BOTH--the kids are sick? And that one of the those kids is under 3 months? And that the other is 3? And that 3 happens to be 

THE AGE OF HORROR

that no one mentions until AFTER you've already born the kid so you can't turn back?

It shocks me that there aren't a lot more 3-year olds put up for adoption.

The first part of the day (aka: Pre-Zumba) went wonderfully. Madie was reasonably happy when she awoke, and although she had wet the bed, I was prepared for that, having not made her go before bed, not taken her in the middle of the night, and having given her a cup of water to sleep with because she has a cough. And because, if there is anyone out there who understands bedwetting, it's me.

At Zumba Madie was also very good. It helped that it was outdoors, so she got plenty of outside time in. And her friend Ezra was there--they were so cute to watch. She took his hand and held onto it for about 85% of the hour-long class. It was adorable.

She spent the rest of the day throwing tantrums and purposely doing things to annoy me after I had asked her over and over and over again to stop. I spent the rest of the day losing my temper with her and counting down the hours until I could reasonably put her to bed. It was miserable.

A friend of mine told me a few weeks ago that her husband is always encouraging her to "just be more patient." "But," she said, "I feel like I'm patient all day long and then just snap at the end of it!" I hear ya, sister! The past two days I have been calm, collected, and tender towards my children even when, on Sunday, I reached THE POINT OF CONVERGING ANXIETIES:

~I am desperate to make it to church, knowing that--with Mike gone--it is likely to be the most adult interaction I get between Saturday and Wednesday morning. Madie is screaming in her bedroom; Finn is screaming in my face; I am in the midst of a poopy diaper, and suddenly a pale yellow stream flows up and soaks the bedclothes, his clothes, his swaddler (without which he doesn't sleep well) and I end up doing laundry on the one day I never have to do laundry. As I watch that stream flow it dawns on me, "This is it. That moment where all the bad things that can happen are happening at the exact same time."~

But I've noticed that if the CONVERGING ANXIETIES hit me as CONVERGING ANXIETIES as they are happening, I am able to suddenly see an irony to it and laugh it off. If, on the other hand, I take them as they come, they pile one atop the other until I reach another point:

THE POINT OF LOOMING OUTRAGE.

That point is as scary as it sounds, and usually is dissipated slowly after a separation of myself from the cause, which is always a child, and this fact means it ultimately ends in a pit of shame. Today, THE POINT OF LOOMING OUTRAGE was reached shortly after Madie backed out of her promise to be my big girl.

I am, overall, a very capable, independent sort of woman. Having my husband gone doesn't necessarily put me out in ability, mood, or even efficiency. But I must say, I am so ready to have him come home. So, so ready.